


What I Like

by tinsnip



Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assumptions, Boundaries, Deep Dish Nine, Dialogue Dialogue Dialogue, Discoveries, First Kiss, Fluffy, Hugging, M/M, Mutual Restrained Delight, Sugar-on-a-Stick, Warm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:26:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian is a bit nervous about this, to be honest. Has he really invited Garak to the midway with him? What was he thinking? Oh, well; perhaps it'll be fun. Maybe he can show Garak a few new things! (And hopefully it won't be too embarrassing...?)</p><p>Set in the world of Deep Dish Nine, a DS9 AU. This is Tinsnip's version, working with Lady Yate-Xel's Julian and Elim, and is not "canon," as it were; it's just a fun idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady Yate-Xel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lady+Yate-Xel).
  * Inspired by [Deep Dish 9 Ferris Wheel](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/25571) by Lady Yate-Xel. 



> Set in the world of Deep Dish Nine, a DS9 AU. Things you should know: DS9 is now a pizzeria; all alien races are now different races of Humanity; all homeworlds are now countries/provinces/what have you; set approximately in the present day. Julian is a second-year med student who works at DD9 to keep his loans down, and Garak is nothing more than a tailor, of course; what on earth would make you think he might be anything more? (For more information, check out its [tumblr](http://deep-dish-nine.tumblr.com/) or its [Dreamwidth](http://deepdishnine.dreamwidth.org/profile)!)
> 
> (The song that forms the backbone is Ke$ha's ["C'mon"](https://itunes.apple.com/ca/artist/ke%24ha/id334854763) \- highly recommended for general happy nonsense; buy it if you like this! - and as always, the drumbeat is Julian's heart. Hear it skipping beats? Yeah, so does he...!)
> 
> I do not have any rights to either the song or the characters. This is all for fun.

_saw you leanin’ against that old record machine_  
 _saw the name of your band written on the marquee_  
 _it’s a full moon tonight so we gettin’ rowdy_  
 _yeah we gettin’ rowdy, g-g-gettin’ rowdy_

* * *

By the time he gets out of the restaurant it’s ten after ten. _I’m late—_

Oh, well, it can’t be helped; he’d had to change out of his uniform. There was no way he was going _anywhere_ dressed like that. And then there’d been last-minute chit-chat with Jadzia, and waiting for Kira to finish counting the till, God, it had been interminable, _let me out of here!_

Now, finally, he’s out, and the moon is full and bright, the night is warm; cars rush along the avenue, headlights leading the way, and the occasional thump of bass dopplers past as he looks back and forth across the parking lot. _Where is he? He was supposed to meet me here—_

 _Oh._ There he is, down by his shop, its lights off and the big “Garak’s Clothiers” gone dark. Julian can’t help but grin at the sight of him. For a moment he just looks, enjoying the perfectly dressed, terribly incongruous man leaning up against the slightly dilapidated wall of the plaza. _He looks like he should be... I don’t know, attending the opera or something._ Instead, here he is, propping up a strip mall. It’s weirdly endearing.

“Sorry I’m late, Garak.” He tries to make his smile both warm and apologetic; it’s an odd mix, and he’s not sure that it sits quite right on his face. Garak seems to get it, though, and his own smile in return is nothing but pleased.

“Not at all, my dear,” and he pushes away from the wall, stands tall, brushes himself off. “It’s a lovely night to be outside. I was quite enjoying the wait.”

“Oh, well, in _that_ case, I’m sorry I interrupted you.”

“I suppose it’s probably for the best.” Garak’s tone is magnanimous, and Julian’s smile widens to a grin.

“So... ready for fun?” He gestures towards the street.

“Lead the way.” Garak tilts his head, smiling, and they head off across the parking lot together, matching strides. Once they reach the sidewalk, they turn, heading west towards Orion Park. They’ve got a few blocks to go, but it’s a nice night; the city’s warm and busy, and Julian’s feeling good, feeling optimistic. He smiles to himself.

“I’m still a little surprised that you agreed to do this.”

“Really? Why?” From the corner of his eye, he sees Garak turn to look at him, curious.

“Well, it... it really doesn’t seem like your style, to be honest.” He shrugs, still smiling. “When I asked, I figured you’d tell me you had a poetry reading to attend, or maybe a busy night of embroidery—”

Garak snorts a small, derisive laugh, and it’s a funny enough sound that Julian is surprised into a laugh too. “You must think I’m very dull, Julian.”

“No, not at all!” And it’s true – Garak’s very interesting, great fun to talk to, wickedly dry wit, knows lots of things; he’s a fantastic companion for about ninety percent of what Julian likes to do.

It’s that remaining ten percent that’s giving him trouble. And what they’re going to do tonight falls squarely into that ten percent.

“I just have trouble imagining you at a midway, that’s all.” Garak eating cotton candy. Garak with a big squeaky hammer. Garak riding the Tilt-A-Whirl? It’s completely impossible, too strange to even be funny.

Garak, unaware of the odd things he’s doing in Julian’s head, _thank God,_ looks a bit unimpressed by Julian’s pat assessment. “Is that so?”

“Well, you’re just so...” And Julian gestures with one hand down the length of Garak’s body. “I mean... I’m fairly certain that vest is silk.”

“Satin, actually, but a good guess.”

“And that shirt – which is really rather nice, by the way—”

“Thank you!”

“—looks to be... well, I have no idea, but it looks _expensive.”_

“I sell them at quite a reasonable price, in fact.”

“You know what I mean!” He shakes his head at Garak, slightly exasperated, and Garak smiles. For a moment, they’re forced into single-file as they squeeze past a group of people waiting by a bus shelter; once past, they’re side by side again, moving down the street.

“Julian, having good taste in clothes does not preclude one from having fun.” His face is amused; his eyes are laughing.

“Never said it did. I just... I mean, a midway is crowded and noisy and dirty and _loud—”_

“I thought you were the one who wanted to go.” Garak’s smooth stride takes him around a store’s sandwich-board sidewalk display. “You certainly don’t sound like you’re expecting to enjoy yourself.”

Now it’s Julian’s turn to navigate treacherous terrain; the discarded pizza box is kicked to the side, out of his way. “Oh, but I _like_ crowded and noisy and dirty and loud. And I...” He runs down, looks over at Garak, spreads his hands, a bit helpless. “I mean, I know you’re not much for any of those things. So I’m surprised you’re coming.”

A musing sort of silence from Garak as they walk, and then, “Julian Bashir, do you presume to think that you know me?”

He’s not quite sure how to take that, and he looks over; thankfully, Garak’s expression is less affronted than it is amused. He decides to respond in kind. “I think I’m starting to. Rather well, actually.” A smile never hurts, so he adds one of those, too.

Now Garak tilts his head, brows raised. “Then I’m a bit confused. If you already knew I wouldn’t like anything about this, why did you ask me to come?”

 _Um. Why did I?_ God, especially to the midway, which in his mind is always associated with acting silly and screaming on rides and eating horrendous things and generally acting like an idiot. It’s a place for first dates – or maybe second dates, where one doesn’t mind looking stupid quite as much. It’s a place for being ridiculous with one’s friends. It’s not a place for Garak.

He could’ve asked Miles – but then there would’ve been the kids, and Keiko. He could’ve asked Rijal - but then there would’ve been all of Rijal’s friends, too, and Tuveski in particular he finds rather hard to take. He could’ve asked Jadzia, or Ezri, or both. That would probably have been great, actually; Jadzia, in particular, knows how to start a party wherever she goes, and Ezri is cute and funny and would have been thrilled to come—

Never mind. Doesn’t matter, does it? _Because I didn’t_ want _to bring any of them._

He looks over at the middle-aged man walking next to him, back-lit by a store window, who is at this moment watching him think with a slightly impatient expression.

“Just... because I wanted to bring you, I suppose.” He finds himself smiling. A bit bold, to just say it flat out like that. Then again, he’s never been much for subtlety.

And Garak doesn’t seem to mind, does he, because now those raised brows are matched by quirked lips, stretching in a pleased smile. He reaches out a hand, touches Julian’s arm. “And that’s why I agreed to do this.”

His hand is cool against Julian’s skin, cool against the warmth of the night, and Julian grins at him, slips his own hand over Garak’s and squeezes for a moment.

“I promise to show you a good time.” Oh, that sounds flirtatious—

_Because it is—_

“I’ll hold you to that, Julian.” Garak’s smile stays the same, but his eyes close in a lazy blink, a flicker of dark lashes, and there’s a funny little twist in Julian’s middle, a bit of a sweet jolt.

_Feels good. Feels strange._

It isn’t fair to tease. He lets go of Garak’s hand, and immediately it drops back to Garak’s side; now they’re walking together again, just friends, out to do something fun on a warm summer night.

That ten percent flickers into his mind again. An awful lot of that ten percent is made up of things that require a relationship rather closer than _just friends._

_Remind me again why I keep thinking about pulling him into that ten percent?_

_Because this isn’t exactly just friends, is it..._

No, not just friends, and he sneaks a quick look over at Garak, who’s peering into the night, who smiles and points—

“Look!”

Julian turns and looks, and there it is, just visible over the buildings in front of them, perhaps another ten minutes’ walk down the road:  the lights of the midway rise into the night, flashing from rides, from spotlights, and the Ferris wheel turns grandly over it all, sparkling like a Catherine wheel. Orion Park is overwhelmed; its trees are visible only as dark silhouettes against the flickering spectacle that has sprung up between them. Faint music drifts out into the night, along with the sound of voices, of laughter and shouts. The distant cacophony coils around Julian, pulling him in, and not just him; as they get closer to the park, there are more and more people heading the same way, laughing, talking, excited. He and Garak are slowly becoming part of a larger crowd, a throng of people, drifting slowly but with purpose, out to have _fun—_

 _I love this._ He grins at Garak, who grins back, teeth flashing for just a moment, eyes bright in the dusk.

“Looks fun, doesn’t it?”

Garak’s nod is patient and indulgent, _yes, Julian, very nice,_ but there’s just the slightest trace of something in Garak’s smile, something—

_He’s excited too!_

Oh, that is positively _funny,_ and Julian wants to laugh; instead, he picks up his pace a little, letting his stride lengthen, and Garak is left a bit behind. He turns, teasing, walking backwards and gesturing at Garak: “Come on!”

Garak’s expression is the funniest blend of amused irritation. With a little half-skipping step, he closes the distance between himself and Julian, and now he walks faster too, and together they join with the crowd moving towards the midway, towards the promise of the glittering night.


	2. Chapter 2

_feeling like i’m a high-schooler, sipping on a warm wine cooler_  
 _hot ‘cause the party don’t stop, i’m in a crop top like i’m working at hooters_  
 _we been keeping it pg but i wanna get a little frisky_  
 _come gimme some of that yum like a lollipop – let me set you free_

_* * *_

_“Bullshit!”_

“Excuse me?”  Garak looks at him with a slightly challenging expression, his voice mildly offended, but Julian doesn’t care. He doesn’t have any processing power _left_ to care. His mouth is hanging open, he’s fully aware that he looks like an idiot, and he doesn’t care about that either, because his entire brain is taken up with astonishment at what he’s just seen.

What he really wants to do is swear some more, but instead he manages to pull himself together enough to stammer out an actual sentence. “You just hit every single target!”

The challenge in Garak’s irritation is suddenly wiped away, replaced with a really rather disgusting layer of _smug._

“Yes.”

“Nobody can do that!”

The smug somehow intensifies. “I suppose it’s just my lucky day.”

“No. No, I don’t believe it.” He’s shaking his head, still incredulous at what he’s just seen. Tailor by day, crack shot by night? “I just don’t... I...”

He stops himself, turns to Garak, points at him accusingly. “Do it again.”

In the flickering glow of the lights surrounding the little game kiosk, Garak rolls his eyes and does his very best to look put-upon. “If you insist, my dear...”

He turns back to the vendor, who is clearly not wild about the idea. “Another game, please.”

“But you haven’t picked a prize from the first time yet—”

Garak brushes that away, and the vendor trails off, shrugs, hands Garak another little plastic gun—

—which settles into his hands as if it was made for him, and Garak’s entire posture changes: his back curves slightly, his shoulders pull back, his arms come up straight and steady. The little gun, suddenly seeming much more gun-like, is cradled in one hand, steadied with the other; as Garak raises it he smiles fondly, absently, and takes aim—

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Over the little ducks go, one by one, flipping down as if their fate is a foregone conclusion. It’s almost funny; by the end it starts to look as if they’re diving down before Garak even pulls the trigger, as if deciding that discretion is the better part of valour.

And Garak is still smiling, eyes wide, and his arms don’t move at all; it’s as if they’re anchored in place, as if they’ve become the pivot point that the rest of Garak moves around, as if they’re his centre, his balance—

_This man hems trousers for a living._

Almost all the little ducks have gone over now, and there’s just one left: the red one, farthest back, moving faster than all the rest.

Garak pauses for a moment, thoughtful, although his arms are still straight, still ready. “What prize does one win for sweeping the board twice?”

The vendor has obviously never had to consider this issue before. He blinks, pushes his glasses up his nose. “Um. The big one, I guess.” He points, and Julian follows the finger, and finds himself meeting the glassy gaze of a ridiculously large, overstuffed, and slightly cross-eyed toy panda. It is one of the ugliest things he’s ever seen.

He looks over at Garak, who looks back at him, and who is for one horrified moment pulled back to himself; their eyes meet, and the decision is made in an instant.

Garak narrows his eyes at the red duck, lets the gun droop in his hand, and deliberately misses his shot.

“Oh, dear. And I was so close.” His voice is calm. Beneath that calm, though, Julian hears it, almost a thrum: Garak is _delighted._

He finds himself staring at the older man, seeing his posture slide back to normal as he offers the little gun back to the vendor; he watches as one of Garak’s hands idly caresses the silly plastic barrel before letting it go.

 _Which of those postures is ‘normal’? Which of them is the act?_ He’s confused, he’s fascinated, and... Well, here is something else that surprises him: watching Garak suddenly snap into focus, watching him come to life as he knocks down target after target has him feeling a bit...

_Um..._

A quick physical inventory: pulse rate is up, he’s breathing fast, he’s full of endorphins and feeling a bit light-headed, and he’s – _um_ – he’s _stimulated,_ is perhaps the word, he’s stimulated in a way he isn’t used to associating with middle-aged men.

_Except him._

The thought makes him blush slightly, and oh, God, that really doesn’t help. It’s a good thing night has well and truly fallen: visibly blushing in front of Garak would be very embarrassing. _A little too high-school for me, thanks._

Back in the real world outside Julian’s head, the vendor’s voice is slightly shaky. “Uh... Okay, then, mister! Congratulations! I, uh... I guess you get any other prize you want!”

The smile on Garak’s face is more normal now. “My goodness. Julian, why don’t you pick something?”

This is just too strange, and he’s really rather distracted by his heart rate, among other things. “Um... I don’t really care.”

“All right, then, um...” Now the vendor just wants to get rid of them, and he ducks down behind the kiosk counter and comes up with a huge inflatable hammer, the length of Julian’s arm. “Here you go! Have a good night!”

They’re shooed briskly away from the kiosk by the vendor’s palpable discomfort, and find themselves standing in the middle of the little laneway of midway games, barkers shouting all around them, lights flashing on and off. People are everywhere, moving back and forth, peering at games, calling to each other, laughing; here, in the middle of it all, he’s staring at Garak, who’s smiling at him.

 _Can he see me blushing?_ Quick, talk about something else—

“How did you do that?”

“As I’ve said, it must be my lucky night.”

He feels his face twist in exasperation, and Garak’s smile widens for a moment. “No, really, my dear, I do mean it. It _is_ my lucky night,” and he pauses, blinks lazily at Julian, “if for no other reason than because you’ve invited me out with you... and you are remarkably well dressed for the occasion.”

_Oh!_

Yes. Yes, he had chosen his outfit with some care, which isn’t usual for him, but... He’s wearing his black jeans, his “Bashir” jeans, in which he knows he looks very, very good. And he’d chosen them on purpose, hadn’t he, because of the fascination of the ten percent, potentially so full of both promise and endorphins if he manages to ever do anything about it – and damn it, he feels cooler in these jeans, he feels like someone a bit suave, someone who can handle anything and be sexy doing it. But it’s one thing to feel a bit sexy; it’s quite another for the possibly-promising man you’re with to _comment_ on it—

_And for me to like it, oh, my God—_

Now he _is_ blushing, quite definitely and undeniably. He’s thankful, again, for the night, and for how the lights around them flicker and change; surely Garak can’t see exactly what his face is doing, let alone the rest of him – _change the subject, Julian!_

“Well, I’m glad you had fun.” His voice, happily, betrays nothing of what’s going on inside him. “But what am I to do with this?” He gestures with the hammer; as it twists in his hand, it emits a loud squeak. They both look at it.

Garak shakes his head, his expression sympathetic. “I’m afraid that’s your problem, not mine, my dear. I won it for you, after all; it seems only fair to me that you now determine what should be done with it.”

And with that he’s moving off, already looking around curiously for the next thing. Julian watches him for a moment, blows out air, then shakes his head and trots after him.

“Wait up!”

 _“Do_ hurry up, Julian; there are still several games I’d like to try—”


	3. Chapter 3

_write our names on the wall in the back of the bar_  
 _steal some bubblegum from the corner maxi-mart_  
 _yeah, we laughing like kids, causing trouble in the dark_  
 _causing trouble in the dark, t-t-trouble in the dark_

* * *

_“Hah.”_

Garak’s expression is tolerant. “Congratulations.”

“You don’t need to hide your envy. I’m all right with it, I really am.” He puts his hands behind his head and pushes back against them, stretching, letting his body exude triumphant smugness.

“Dear me. How very magnanimous of you.” Tolerance mixes with amusement, and Garak bows slightly. “I’m fortunate you’re not the type to gloat.”

“Me? Never. Humble is my middle name.”

“I can certainly see why you might wish it was.”

“Hush.” He shoots Garak a look, grinning, and Garak presses his lips together in a little moue of amusement.

The vendor is watching them both, confused. She’s clearly been reluctant to interrupt, but now she leans forward, speaking in a stage-whisper. “You... you _do_ know you didn’t win, right?”

Julian waves that away with a theatrical gesture, smiles at her, frowns at Garak. “Look, when you’ve had this guy destroy you at three games in a row, and you finally _tie_ him at something—”

“You very nearly won—”

“—then you get to celebrate a little – right, Garak?”

A little bow, a tilt of the head, a smile. “Of course, Julian.”

The vendor grins, clearly amused. “Right. Got it. Okay. Well, good news: you two got a high score – you wanna write your names on the board?”

 _Oh, fun!_ His eyes widen and he grins back; Garak sees it and rolls his own eyes, and they’re both smiling. Julian leans over conspiratorially.

“Should we?”

“Oh, by all means, let us advertise our skill at balloon-darts. Perhaps fame and fortune will follow.” A trifle dry, that voice, but there’s laughter underneath.

“Don’t be boring.” He raises an admonishing finger.

“Me? I am hurt, my dear.”

The vendor hands Julian the chalk, and he scrawls his name on the board with a flourish.

“You should perhaps write more legibly if you want anyone to recognize your name.” Garak’s tone is teasing.

Julian grins, inclines his head as if he’s been complimented. “Shall I sign for you as well?”

“Give me that.” The chalk is snatched from his hand, leaving blue on his fingers, and he wipes it on his jeans, and realizes that now there are blue smudges on his thighs. He brushes at them ineffectually; Garak presses his lips together, and it’s clear as day that he’s suppressing a laugh.

Garak’s signature is, of course, perfect. Somehow, even in smudging chalk, he has managed to make five letters look like art, or some kind of product logo, something _designed_. Julian shakes his head, grinning.

“Is there anything you do that isn’t unnecessarily lovely?” _Um..._ The flirtation seems to be flowing free, tonight.

Garak catches it – not that it was hard to miss, particularly – and his smile tilts, his eyes narrow slightly. “Well, my dear, I always aim to please...”

“You’re certainly doing well by me.” _Oh, God, what am I doing?_ And here goes his heart again, beating triple time...

Garak’s eyes widen. “Am I? What good news! Please, do keep letting me know when I do something right!”

“I’ll make sure you can tell.” He’s laughing, and Garak’s expression is excellent, and the vendor is rolling her eyes a little; _oh, God, we’re just another flirtatious couple, oh my God—_

A distraction? _Do I want one?_ Well, here’s one anyway— “Hey, look!” He points to the board, to the names above theirs.

Garak peers, raises his eyebrows. “Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien!”

Yep, MILES & KEIKO, in broad scrawl and fine print. The vendor turns to see what they’re looking at, nods, remembering. “Yeah, they were here about an hour ago. They were pretty good!”

Garak’s surprised. “They, plural?”

Julian shrugs. “I’m not the only one he ever plays with, you know.”

“Mmm. Perhaps not now...” A little bit of smug satisfaction in Garak’s voice, there, and it makes him grin.

“Well, you do take up rather a lot of my time.” Oh, God, wait, that’s – thirty seconds and he’s already flirting again? _Why can’t I_ stop?

“Are you complaining?” Garak’s eyes are bright, a little smile playing around his mouth, _because it’s fun, that’s why,_ and his heart is now apparently skipping actual beats—

Meanwhile, the vendor is looking past them to the next people who want to play. “Step right up! Step right up, folks, see if you can beat the high score!”

They take the hint, step discreetly aside – well, discreet is the idea, but as Julian moves, he steps on that stupid squeaky hammer, piled up with the big purple snake and the fuzzy sehlat and the flower thing and the palukoo, and he wobbles and almost trips—

_Oh, God—_

A moment of slightly frantic dancing is accompanied by a few tortured squeaks, and he manages to extricate himself without completely toppling over into the pile of accumulated kitsch. He looks up from his feet to see Garak with his hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking, eyes strained.

 _Oh, for God’s sake._ “I’m glad I amuse you so very much.” He frowns, trying for irritated, not really feeling it, because how on earth can someone as refined as Garak look so damned cute giggling?

Garak nods an apology, but he still can’t speak – all he can offer is an apologetic brow-raise, a widening of blue eyes, and it is pretty funny, actually; now Julian’s chuckling too, a bit ruefully. “God, Garak, what are we going to _do_ with all of this stuff?”

The little laughing fit is beginning to pass, and Garak is able to lower his hand and smile at Julian, though his mouth is still working slightly. “Do we need to do something with it?”

“I don’t want to carry it anymore! I feel ridiculous – and it’s getting a bit out of hand, don’t you think?”

“Well, they do keep pressing it on us—”

“Because you want to play every game we see. Perhaps if you could just stop yourself from winning _everything—”_

“Jealousy doesn’t become you, my dear.” As Julian sputters, Garak frowns slightly and looks over the pile, considering their options. His brows lift; there’s a sudden light in his eyes.

“Would you walk with me for a moment?”

 _Um._ “Of course...?”

Garak moves softly away from the booth, leaving their pile of nonsense behind him; Julian follows, curious. He catches up to Garak, bends over slightly, his voice lowered. “What is it?”

“Just keep walking, my dear.”

“Um... all right?”

“Good, good, now, stay with me...” His voice trails off, but his stride is quick and measured; he walks calmly, quietly, as if his destination is clear in his mind, and Julian has no idea where they’re going, but he seems to be along for the ride now.

A few more paces, and he hears the vendor’s voice behind them – “Sir? Sir!”

“Garak—”

“Don’t turn, just move...”

They’re still walking with long, easy steps, and the vendor is starting to sound a bit irritated.

“Sir! You forgot your things! Sir!”

He slides a look at Garak, whose face is placid composure. “Are we just going to leave it all there?”

“Why not?” Smooth steps, lazy complacency.

“Wh— Because it’s not— It’s not—”

Why can’t they leave it all there, actually? He’s suddenly unsure, has a hard time coming up with much. After a moment, he settles on a half-meant response. “Because it’s not... It’s not very _responsible.”_ It seems a bit silly even as he says it, but he really feels he should make some sort of objection.

It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because all he gets back is an amused, “Is that so, my dear,” and now Garak turns sharply, smoothly, and they’re moving out of the crowd, between booths, slipping sideways into darkness.

“Hey, are we allowed to go back—”

“Hush, just follow me...”

Into the dark they go, back behind the trailers, around behind the rides, and no, they’re clearly not supposed to be here – there are no lights, no booths, no speakers, no _people,_ just them and the night—

“Where are we _going?”_

“As far away from that booth as we can; now, come along—”

It’s all very sneaky and secret, and Julian finds himself laughing as they squeeze between signage and posts and little temporary buildings. Garak is chuckling very softly to himself, too, and his laughter drifts back through the darkness.

“You know, Garak, I don’t think they’re going to chase us down...”

“It seems that way, doesn’t it? A pity.” Around a corner, stepping in soft mud—

“We probably don’t have to act like spies, is what I’m saying.” He ducks his head to avoid a power line slung between two little buildings.

“Is that what we’re doing?”

“This does feel a bit cloak-and-dagger—” Whoops, and he almost trips over an unexpected plank lying on the ground, unseen in the dark. He frowns at it, keeps going.

“Dear me. How very James Bond of us.” Garak moves sharply around a garbage bin with one, two, three quick steps.

“Who would have known we had it in us?” He’s grinning.

“I suppose we just needed the proper motivation.” They’re coming back towards the entrance to the midway, now; the Ferris wheel turns above them, and they’re lit softly by its flashing lights. He sees Garak’s half-smile strobe into existence as the man looks up.

“What, escaping our dark and dirty deeds?”

“My dear, a few moments ago you were acting as if leaving those things behind was quite the criminal act.” Garak stops, turns, looks back at him, smiling. “What’s changed your mind?”

“Perhaps you’re just corrupting me.” Oh, dear.

“I’m _trying...”_ Oh, and his _voice_ , and Garak’s smile is suddenly wide, his eyes wider still; suddenly Julian is acutely aware that they’re still pretty much alone here, near the crowd but not in it, not lit by anything but the lights of the wheel turning over them, and he could just—

_I could just—_

“Uh—” Stammering, tripping over his tongue— “And anyway, after all, it’s not like we’re _stealing_ anything, is it? I mean, really, we’re almost donating the prizes _back,_ it’s really rather a _good_ deed when you get right down to it—”

 _Julian Bashir, you chickenshit._ But it’s that ten percent again, isn’t it; that last little fraction, seeming not so little...

Garak’s eyes, which had suddenly been so very astoundingly blue, are now just his eyes again: polite, interested, slightly amused. He holds up a hand as if to stop the torrent of words. “Of course, my dear.”

 _Damn it, damn it, damn it._ Um. Well, may as well make the best of things: he can see the beer tent near where they’ve ended up, just a bit further along on the main pathway, and so he points to it, smiles at Garak. “Look – I could go for a beer. Would you mind if we stopped for a few minutes? You don’t have to have a beer – I mean, I don’t think they’ll have kanar or anything, but there might be wine or—”

As he’s speaking, Garak turns, sees where he’s pointing, considers and nods. “I think I might enjoy a beer. Let’s go.”

Julian finds himself surprised; he’d half-expected an unimpressed frown. “Um... you drink beer?”

Now he gets the frown. “Of course I drink beer. Why wouldn’t I drink beer?”

“I don’t know... It just doesn’t... It doesn’t seem very _you.”_

The frown deepens, and for a moment he feels a bit as if he’s being scanned by those cool blue eyes, picked apart into his disparate pieces for analysis. “My dear, you seem to have formed some rather strange opinions about me.”

“Um...” He’s not sure what to say. “Have I?”

“I think we’d both benefit from exploring that further.” Garak nods, gestures towards the beer tent. “Over beer.”


	4. Chapter 4

_feeling like a saber-toothed tiger, sipping on a warm Budweiser_  
 _touch me and give me that rush, better pack a toothbrush, gonna pull an all-nighter_  
 _we been keeping it kosher, but i wanna get it on fo’ sure_  
 _come gimme some of that yum like a lollipop – baby, don’t be scared_

* * *

He can’t quite accept it. It’s just too surreal. He keeps trying to expand his mind to take it in, and his mind keeps refusing to stretch.

Here is Elim Garak, he of the perfect hair, the immaculate nails, the well-tailored clothes; here he is with his sleeves rolled up, elbows resting on a dirty picnic table, taking a pull from a beer bottle.

It’s not even very good beer.

Garak’s eyes are briefly shut as he drinks, bottle tipped back; when the bottle hits the table, the eyelids go up, and Garak lets out a little sigh. His voice is relaxed, his tone musing. “Do you know, my dear, I cannot actually recall the last time I drank beer?”

Julian grins at him. “I’m proud to see you’re expanding your horizons.”

Garak blinks at that, and is suddenly thoughtful, considering; after a moment he smiles, leans in.

“May I propose a toast?”

“Oh, by all means.”

“To opened eyes.”

Bottles are lifted and tapped together, _clink,_ and meanwhile Julian’s mind is already working, puzzling over that one. To cover his bemusement, he sips his own beer. It’s warm. It’s sour. Its only redeeming quality is that it’s wet. _Dear God, if this is the first beer Garak’s had in years, he’s never going to drink it again._

Garak is eyeing him. “Not to your liking?”

“Oh, no, it’s... um...” _What’s the point?_ He shrugs, smiles. “It’s awful, actually. God, it is _really_ bad,” and now he finds himself laughing.

Garak’s smile broadens; he laughs too, quietly, and nods. “It’s remarkable how often our tastes agree.” He looks at Julian, consideration in his gaze; then, as if making some kind of point, he takes another extremely deliberate swig. Julian watches him purse his lips, watches him swallow, watches his fingers on the bottle, watches himself watching—

“Um, and how have your eyes been opened tonight, Garak?” Is that flirtation? Is that re-direction? _It’s getting rather hard to tell..._

“Mmm.” A pause, and Garak examines the label on his bottle critically. He speaks without looking up. “I’ve discovered that someone who I always thought to be quite open-minded and adventurous is perhaps much less so than I believed.”

_Me?_

It stings, and it’s unexpected; he’s not sure if he should be upset or if he’s supposed to laugh. “I’m... sorry?”

“Oh, don’t be. You’re trying.” Another sip, contemplative. “It’s simply that you appear to have put me in some kind of very neat box.”

“Box?”

“Mmm.” Suddenly his voice changes, lilting. “‘Garak enjoys fashion, and kanar, and literature, and me.’” He looks up at Julian from under heavy lids, half-smiling, and Julian is equal parts amused and irritated at hearing his own speech patterns from Garak’s mouth.

 _Let’s keep it light._ “I don’t say _lit-rah-chah.”_

“I beg your pardon, but you do. I have an excellent ear.”

Julian rolls his eyes. _“Anyway,_ I mean... that’s right, isn’t it? Those are things you like?”

“Oh, most certainly. But apparently Garak does not enjoy fairs, or games, or beer.” It’s a statement, not a question, and this time his voice doesn’t change.

“It is a bit surprising.” He’s not quite sure where this is going, and he raises his eyebrows.

Garak nods, looks down, thoughtful. “Do you know, I’m very slightly taken aback by all the things you seem quite certain I don’t like. It makes me wonder what I might be missing out on.” Now those eyes zero in on him, their gaze level and calm, and Julian stares back uncertainly.

“Sorry, I – I didn’t mean to offend you or anything, I just—”

“Well, that’s exactly the point, isn’t it? You don’t want to offend me.” Garak tilts his head. “Why, exactly, do you think you’re going to offend me?”

Um. “Well, I don’t _really,_ I’m just...” He trails off, looks at his bottle. “Sorry, I—”

“And by every little mercy, if you say you’re sorry one more time, I’m going to have to frown at you.”

Garak’s expression is bland, as if they’re discussing food or coffee, something that doesn’t really matter. For some reason, that makes it a bit easier.

“Sor— Um. It’s just...” He takes a drink to buy himself a moment to think; Garak waits patiently, a finger tapping softly against his beer.

May as well lay it out. “I’ve never known anyone who’s anything like you, Garak.”

Garak nods, accepting that as his due; Julian rolls his eyes, smiling. “It’s... you’re... look, this might get rather shamelessly flattering.”

“I believe I’ll be able to manage that situation.”

“All right. Be it on your own head. Look, you dress perfectly. And you’re smart. And you read excellent things – no, look, it’s _true,_ remember Verota? I never would have said anything to you if not for Verota.”

“Yet another paean to heap on his head. Truly, he is a gift to literature.”

“Hush. I’m trying to compliment you.”

“My apologies; please, go on.”

“Thank you. All right, let’s see: um, clothes. Clever. Reading. Ah – you can _cook._ And you make the most gorgeous things. And you speak at least three languages, and you can sing, and...” He runs out of words, waves a hand helplessly.

“Dear me. Am I really so accomplished?”

“If you’re not, you fake it well.”

“There may be more truth in that than you know, my dear.”

“Somehow I doubt it. Anyway, that’s the gist of it. You’re... you’re a bit spectacular, really.”

Garak is clearly pleased by all of this stammering praise. _He’d better be;_ God, this is embarrassing _._ It’s all honest, though, and it’s a bit strange for Julian, totting it up: he’s never really thought about Garak like this before. _A bit overwhelming, really..._

As if he’s read Julian’s mind, Garak tilts his head, his voice amused. “You make me sound very intimidating, Julian.”

Can’t let him get that idea; Julian would never live it down. “I suppose you could be. If you tried very, very hard.”

Garak waves that away with lazy fingers. “Far too much effort. And why would I want to be intimidating?”

He smiles. “What, you don’t want to command my fear?”

Garak’s face is enough of an answer for that one, and Julian grins for a moment. “I’m glad. I prefer not being frightened of you, all told.”

“Then we agree.” Garak salutes him with his beer, drinks, sets it down. “But your flattering list of my varied splendours does not explain why you’ve already decided that so many things that _you_ enjoy are not for my consumption.”

“Oh, I mean... Not _so_ many, just...” _Just about ten percent._ “I mean… we already like so many of the same things, so why not just do things we know we both like? You know?”

Garak clearly doesn’t. Julian sighs, tries again. “I... it’s just... what I like sometimes seems a trifle low-brow. In comparison.” That sounds wrong, but it’s close enough.

Garak looks bemused. “Low-brow.”

“Yes. I mean, video games. And... and beer, right? And...” He gestures around them, at the tent full of chatting fair-goers, shouting at each other and laughing and being a bit ridiculous. “I mean, _this,_ I love this. But for you...”

“You said something like this earlier tonight. Crowded and noisy and dirty and loud.”

 _“Exactly._ And I love it, I like to just marinate in it and wander and feel like a kid out too late at night... I mean, I’m still really a bit astonished that you’re here. Surely this isn’t something you actually like?”

A slight frown. “Don’t you think that perhaps I should be the one to decide what I do and do not like?”

 _Oh, that’s not what I meant—_ “Of course you should, that’s not it at all, it’s just...” He sighs. “Here we are, doing something really silly, and it’s just... I mean, are you only doing it for me? Are you doing something you don’t really want to do because you feel like you should?”

Garak’s face is very still. “Do you think I’m in the habit of doing things I don’t want to do, Julian?”

 _Is he... have I made him angry?_ God, this is hard. “No! No, I just... I don’t want you to come and do these things and then think, _how foolish, is this really what Julian likes,_ I mean...” He grasps at air. “I suppose I just don’t want you to think less of me, is all.”

It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth, but there’s a truth in it that surprises him. _If he’s the one chasing me, if I’m just along for the ride, why am I worrying at all about what he thinks of me?_ He blinks at his own thoughts, at the little game he’s apparently playing with himself, and he’s not sure what to think.

Weirdly, Garak’s face wears the same emotion Julian is feeling: slightly stunned incredulity. Except, because it’s Garak, one only knows it’s there if one knows how to read him. The moment stretches as Garak, incredibly, does not say anything.

Julian sips his beer and does not fidget. The only thing he can think of to say is “sorry,” and seeing as how he’s been specifically warned against saying that, he doesn’t say anything. It’s hard, because his default reaction to embarrassment has always been, depressingly, to babble. Quietly marinating in it is much more difficult. He looks down at the table, picks at the label on his beer, waiting.

Finally Garak sighs, and the sound of it makes Julian look up. It’s a pained sigh, an amused sigh that slips into a chuckle, and of all the responses Garak could have offered to his weird little confession, quiet, slightly strained laughter isn’t exactly the first one he expected.

“You don’t want me to think less of you...” It’s said on a exhalation, and Garak’s face is strange, almost rueful.

“Apparently.” It’s ridiculous. He knows it. And yet here he is, and here is Garak, shaking his head, putting a hand over his eyes for a moment, peering at him over his fingers.

“Julian. If I thought any _more_ of you, I’d think of nothing else.”

 _Oh_ – he blinks at that – and yet there’s more, Garak is still talking.

“You are delightful. Everything about you pleases me. I find you incredibly charming. Quite literally, my dear: how charming you are strains my credulity. I enjoy your conversation and your company. And your video games and your horror movies and your eclectic wardrobe and your incredible appetite are spice for the dish.” Intense, wide blue eyes; a small smile twisting pale lips; posture tightly controlled, one hand gesturing, and he’s _still_ talking, making up for his stunned silence, “Julian Bashir, after a taste of you, everything else seems _bland.”_

His face must look ridiculous. His eyes must be dinner plates. His mouth is hanging open, he knows that, and yet he can’t seem to muster the wherewithal to close it. _What is this?_

Garak’s looking back at him, calm and composed and quietly panicked, and that just can’t be allowed to continue; it’s too painful to watch. Leaving aside the question of when Garak’s discomfort became uncomfortable for him, too, he slides a hand across the table to where Garak’s hand is resting quietly. It’s cool under his, and he squeezes it, slips a thumb under the palm and turns it over so that he can press their palms together. Now his fingers are at Garak’s wrist, and he feels Garak’s pulse there, waiting for him, _here, here, here—_

His blood is rushing in his ears.

Garak’s eyes are wide.

_How do I—_

_Like this:_ he lifts his beer, looks at Garak; Garak does the same, and he taps his bottle against Garak’s, _clink._

“To new discoveries.”

Raised brows, and a nod, and a mutual sip. 

“And what new things have you discovered tonight, my dear...?” Garak’s voice is coolly amused; meanwhile beneath Julian’s fingertips his pulse is racing, and Julian smiles.

“I’ve discovered that someone who I always thought prided himself on being rather cerebral is perhaps really not so exclusively cerebral at all.”

Garak’s brows twitch. “Oh, come now. I admit I’m fond of you and you insult me.”

“And when, exactly, did I say that was an insult?” Julian’s mouth is flying far ahead of his mind, now, soaring on wings of epinephrine, of oxytocin – _go, go, go!_ “I think I might be quite interested in seeing you demonstrate interests other than the cerebral. Now that you’ve let me know you have them, that is.”

Pale lips open slightly, and Garak tilts his head, lowers his eyelids. “All you have to do is give me an opportunity, my dear...”

“Keep watching. Wouldn’t want you to miss it.” His own eyelids are at half-mast, and he grins, and Garak’s eyes are laughing, and _oh, God,_ never mind flirting. This is beyond flirting. This is the kind of flirting he does when he’s really locked in, when the woman’s clearly interested, when the outcome of the evening is a foregone conclusion and the only thing left to work out is _my place or yours?_

_If I’m going to stop, I should stop now._

He isn’t stopping. He doesn’t _want_ to stop. Hormones are flooding his bloodstream, everything’s tinged faintly pink, the noise of the beer tent is cacophonous and muddled and totally irrelevant because Garak is looking at him and—

And is pulling his hand away?

He very nearly clutches at Garak’s hand as it slips from beneath his own, fingertips tracing under his palm. “Garak, what—”

“It’s after midnight, my dear. Don’t you think we should be moving along?”

He’s hazy, he can’t think. “I... I’m sorry?”

“Now what did I tell you about that word?”

“Uh...” _Pull yourself together, Julian!_ He swallows, looks up at Garak, smiles as winningly as he knows how. “But I was just getting rather comfortable _here_ , Garak...”

It’s reliable, that smile; he sees it hit home in the little widening of Garak’s eyes, and Garak’s mouth tilts in response. “Julian, you promised me an evening of fun, didn’t you?”

“Um. I may have done something like that, yes...”

“Don’t you think it rather remiss to bring me to the midway and take me on not a single ride?”

Oh, God, here’s Garak on a Tilt-a-Whirl again, bizarre behind his eyes, and he’s blinking. “Really? You want to go on rides?”

Garak frowns; Julian waves his hands in air, erasing the words. “Right. Right, yes. Rides. All right. By all means.” He slips a leg over the picnic table bench, turns and pushes himself to a semi-stand; with a little hop, he frees the other leg from the table’s grasp.

Garak stands with considerably more grace, _of course,_ and brushes himself off before rolling down his sleeves and buttoning the cuffs. He holds his arms out in front of him for a moment, considering the overall effect—

And Julian reaches out, catches one of his hands, slips his fingers between Garak’s just a little, watches his eyes widen, sees the hitch of breath. Garak looks at him, and Julian smiles.

“Come on, Garak. May I? Please?”

A considering blink, and then a smile, warm and amused and – funny to even think it – very fond, and Garak nods. His fingers tighten on Julian’s own.

Right hand to left, fingers barely interlaced, they slip around the sides of the picnic table and meet at its end. They stand together for a moment, looking out at the midway, at its artlessly presented assortment of garishly-lit amusements. It’s a swirl of sound, a chaos of colour. It looks _fun._

Their beers are left abandoned on the table.


	5. Chapter 5

_c’mon ‘cause i know what i like and you’re looking just like the type_  
 _let’s go for it just for tonight – c’mon, c’mon, c’mon_  
 _now don’t even try to deny we’re both going home satisfied_  
 _let’s go for it just for tonight – c’mon, c’mon, c’mon_

* * *

“God, Garak, _again?”_

“Just once more, please?”

“Three times already – my God, what do you think I’m made of?”

“Surely you can manage just once more?”

 _“No._ I’m completely out of endorphins. I’ve got nothing left.”

“I’m disappointed in you, my dear; I thought that young men were supposed to be up for just about anything.”

“And _I_ thought old men were supposed to be above this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?”

“Adrenaline rushes. Cheap thrills.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that _you,_ Garak,” and he points at the man who’s leaning over him, smiling, “have a _danger kink.”_

Garak’s eyes widen. “No!”

“Yes. What kind of man goes on the Tower of Terror _three times_ and then begs for more? Someone bent on self-destruction, that’s who. Well, you’re not going to take down me with you.” He nods firmly, crosses his arms and looks away.

“But they won’t let me on without a seat-mate, Julian...” Garak’s voice is practically wheedling, and Julian hides his grin behind a feigned rub of eyes, keeps his voice squarely in the realm of irascibility.

“Go find someone else, then.”

Garak’s exasperated sigh is eloquent; he sits next to Julian on the bench with what would be dignified aplomb for anyone else, but from Garak reads as an irritated flounce. This time, stopping the giggle requires a bitten lip.

They both look up at the tower, wreathed with lights, and Garak sighs wistfully as another crowd of thrill-seekers is launched aloft, trailing a chorus of screams behind them.

“Really quite wonderful...”

Julian looks at him sideways, sees his face lit by the red glow of the ride. He’s half-smiling, teeth bared; his eyes are wide, and – well, it’s difficult to tell in this lighting, but is that the faintest flush of pink in his cheeks? _This is Garak, non-cerebral._ God, it’s almost a little bit frightening: the man looks almost predatory, completely engaged and—

 _Oh_ — _!_

—and non-cerebral can cover such a _range_ of activities, after all, and would this be what he’d look like if Julian were to lean over, were to try something very much within the realm of that uncertain ten percent?

His hands twitch at the thought. _Oh, my God._ His heart is racing and he’s half-aroused, half-wary, and he really needs to derail this train of thought, especially as Garak’s hand is now slipping into his own, those fingers weaving gently through his in that particularly Cardassian sort-of-kiss. Is this really the time to let his hormones run away with him? _Especially since I’ve no idea where on Earth we’d end up going?_

Garak turns and looks at him, smiling, and so he shoves all this illicit hormone-driven frantic back down and does his best to return the smile calmly, coolly.

“Well, my dear, if this particular ride is no longer to your taste, what should we do with ourselves?”

That ten percent is dancing behind his eyes, a flickering lure, distracting; he tries to focus.“Um. Well, let’s see. We’ve already done most of the good ones, I think...”

“I quite liked the one where we went backwards faster and faster.” Garak’s smile sharpens in happy memory.

“Everybody likes that one.”

“We could ride it again, perhaps?”

“No, that one’s only good for one time, I find... the next time you just get sick.”

Garak ponders, nods. “I’ll take your word for it. I certainly would prefer not to end my evening on a note of nausea.”

“Glad to hear it. No, I think the only thing left worth doing is...”

He turns, looks; Garak follows his gaze, and they both look up to the giant wheel spinning in the night, its spokes flaring _white-yellow-red,_ its seats rocking gently as they circle through the darkness.

Garak looks somewhat unimpressed. “A trifle tame, don’t you think?”

“Clearly, you’ve not been on a Ferris wheel with the right person before.”

“Do tell.” As they speak, they’re standing, brushing themselves off.

“Ever get to the very top and rock your seat?”

Garak slides him a look. “Cheap thrills indeed. My dear, that is for amateurs.”

“Not the way I do it.”

Dark brows lift, and that smile twists, and _oh shit, I’ve done it again, haven’t I,_ “And how exactly do you do it?”

“Now, do you really expect me to give up all my secrets that easily?”

“I’d be rather disappointed if you did.”

“Excellent, because I intend to make you work for them.” Oh, and now Garak inclines his head with another flash of teeth, his eyes amused – his hand grips Julian’s, briefly – and this is getting easier and easier, isn’t it? It’s really starting to seem as if flirtation is becoming his default mode, it’s hard to _stop,_ actually, and he’s no longer even all that sure that he even wants to, and perhaps—

_Perhaps I’d better just go with it?_

They’ve got this little game of “non-linear” going, after all; he can always dial back if he needs to, but – _Garak likes me, he likes_ me, _whether it’s Verota or video games, he likes_ me—

_Can I go with it? Oh, please, can I?_

_It’ll be complicated—_

_Fine, I can handle it—_

_It’ll be different—_

_Good, I like trying new things—_

_But what if you don’t like it?_

_God, one way or another, at least I’ll_ know, _come_ on, _Julian, just—_

“Well, then, what are you waiting for?”

His eyes flash wide at Garak’s voice, and Garak’s brows jump.

“Sorry! Sorry, I— Um, sorry, went somewhere else for a moment there, I...” He trails off, smiles, shrugs, being nonchalant as hard as he can. “Not important. Never mind. Um, all right, Ferris wheel?”

Now it’s Garak who looks a little bit wary. “If you’re quite sure you’re up for it, my dear...”

“One hundred percent. With one request. No, scratch that: one _requirement.”_

“Oh? What’s that?” Wary slips to amused, and Julian grins at him.

* * *

“Did you have to buy the biggest one?”

“Yes.” He takes a decisive bite. Well, he tries to. It’s hard to bite cotton candy; he more or less has to tug away a mouthful of sticky sugar, and it’s really not quite as defiant a gesture as he’d wanted it to be. Still, it nets him a mouthful of sweetness, and he closes his eyes in bliss.

“Mmm... Sure you don’t want any?”

“Quite certain.” Garak’s voice is prim.

He opens his eyes, looks over at the man next to him in the gently rocking seat. Garak is gazing out over the midway, eyes open to the night; behind him, the world falls away as the wheel turns, lifting them up into the darkness.

“You might like it, you know.” He’s laughing just a little, his voice teasing.

That pulls Garak away from the night long enough for him to shoot Julian a slightly irritable look, even as his fingers squeeze Julian’s gently, softly. “I think not. I prefer my indulgences to be slightly less... _sweet.”_

“Mmm.” Julian nibbles at a bit more of the frothy pink cloud, lets it dissolve on his tongue. “I suppose that’s true... dark chocolate, right?”

“Yes.”

“What about kanar? Kanar is sweet.” His mouth is full of sugar. God, it’s funny how something that would be positively cloying in any other context can somehow seem completely appropriate in the right setting. Cotton candy is only appealing at fairs. _Where else would I eat pure sugar on a stick?_

Garak sighs in mild exasperation. “Kanar is multi-layered, my dear. Kanar is subtle.”

“All those true-tastes you like rhapsodizing about...?” There’s a bit of cotton candy stuck to his cheek, and since he’s got the paper cone in one hand and Garak firmly attached to the other, he’s just going to have to deal with it. It tickles.

“Yes. Exactly. The secrets, the hidden depths – and you must admit that cotton candy is really rather blatant—”

“All right, all right, if you’ve already decided you won’t like it, I won’t force you to try it.” He cuts Garak off, shakes his head dismissively, forcing down his smile; Garak’s brows jump, and his expression turns – funnily enough – a trifle defensive.

“It’s not to my _taste_ , Julian...” And now his head tilts, and his voice is somehow smaller, just a bit less confident. Unflappable Garak balking at something is a new and surprisingly sweet experience, and he only gets sweeter when he frowns at Julian’s cheek, brushes away the candy fluff with a quick touch of a cool hand.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Garak. I suppose I should know better than to ask you to try something so _blatant.”_ He sighs despondently, frowns at his candy, waits—

Yes, and there it is, and he bites the inside of his lip to keep from laughing; next to him there’s a sigh, a shifting of position, and he can almost hear the eye-roll.

“Pass it here, please...” Garak’s hand settles gently over Julian’s on the paper cone, tugs the confection toward him; Julian lets his arm go limp, lets Garak lift the candy to his mouth, watches in expectant delight.

Garak’s face contorts. It’s _great._

“Ugh!” Oh, God, and his _voice_ , he’s so thoroughly _repulsed—_

He tries to push down the laughter. He really does. It’s an heroic effort. But it fails completely, and a snicker slips to a giggle and then to a full-out howl, and Garak’s irritated frown only makes it worse. He squeezes Garak’s hand, drops his head; if he had a hand free, he’d bang it on the side of the car. As it is, he drums his heels on the metal floor. He’s being annoying as hell, and he doesn’t care; his laughter peals out over the night, drifts with them as they spin backwards and down.

By the time he can pull himself together, tears standing in his eyes, they’re starting their third time up and over, and Garak has completely given up on him. Julian’s being given a first-class view of the back of his head. That’s all right; his hand is still in Julian’s, and so he knows he’s not completely in the doghouse. God, though – every time he tries to start the conversation up again, he sees that disgusted face, complete with little strand of cotton candy stuck to Garak’s upper lip, and he starts giggling again.

“God – I’m sorry, I just can’t...” Another string of giggles slips from him; he hears a slightly miffed sigh, and that just makes it _worse._

“Why do you put up with me, anyway?” He tries to wipe at his eyes with the hand holding the cotton candy, realizes that isn’t going to work, makes do with his forearm.

Garak’s voice drifts back to him. “Sometimes that’s just as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”

He purses his lips, lets out a laughing, “Oh, Garak...” God, the man’s just delightful with his sour little faces and his wry little quips, he’s so ridiculous and fussy—

—so clever—

—so sweet—

Suddenly he’s staring at Garak’s back, half-smiling, not really seeing, as he remembers chocolates and plastic guns and incomprehensible theatre and coffee and hands, hands together. As he thinks, his palm presses against Garak’s, and Garak’s presses back. It’s a quiet dialogue: _I like you. I know._

_And I do like him. I really, really do._

He shakes his head at himself, at how he’s dropped off the cusp without even noticing it. When did this moment switch from being something he was nervously contemplating to something pleasantly inevitable?

He’s not nervous now. He’s smiling, quietly anticipatory. _How shall I do it?_

Garak’s body is so solid, next to his own. Even with his head turned away, his shoulders half-twisted so that he can ignore Julian and watch the world instead, there’s still enough contact between them in the small car for Julian to feel his breathing. Their thighs are very nearly touching. Their feet must be nearly touching too. He looks down and it’s so incongruous; Garak’s square-toed dress shoes are so fancy next to his own ratty sneakers, and he finds himself slipping from smile to grin.

_God, Julian, you’re getting ridiculous._

_Getting? I was born this way._

_But it might be really, really weird..._

_Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?_

“Garak?” His voice is quiet.

There’s a put-upon sigh, a tilt of the head before Garak turns to him, charmingly annoyed. “Yes?”

He leans in and kisses him.

It’s a light kiss, barely anything, just a brushing of lips, just to try it, and yet when he pulls away, Garak’s eyes are still shut as if Julian’s just kissed the pure hell out of him.

It’s so sweet, so compelling, and what the hell, the Ferris wheel’s still turning, they’re drifting through the night together in a whirl of colour and sound and that kiss wasn’t weird, it was actually very nice, and so he leans in and does it again before Garak’s eyes even have a chance to re-open.

This time he lets the kiss linger, all five senses reporting for duty. One thing _is_ weird: he finds himself flashing back to his first kiss, back when he was a teenager, uncertain and a bit scared and really, really wanting to do it properly. He’d barely been aware of the kiss itself as any kind of romantic or sexy thing; he’d been more focussed on _how_ to kiss and _is this right?_ and what it all felt like, his mind recording sensations in a frantic scrawl, trying to get it all down.

This is strangely similar.

Touch tells him all about Garak’s lips, how they’re slightly cool, how they press back against his own. Touch informs him that he can feel Garak’s breathing, little puffs of air from his nose. Touch also lets him know, with a wink, that Garak is very likely feeling Julian’s breathing, too, and that sets off that pleasant little twist in his belly, that jolt that he knows rather well.

Scent tells him that Garak is wearing some kind of cologne – a mild one, unobtrusive – and that there’s also just the faintest overlay of cotton candy. From which one of them, he’s not sure. And also, under the cologne, under the sugar... is that Garak’s skin? _Oh—_

Hearing brings him the blended noise of _midway,_ the music spiralling up, the voices laughing and shouting and shrieking in terrified joy; the far-off honking of cars and hum of engines, the melody of a city at night; the soft, almost unnoticeable sounds of lips on lips, of quiet breathing, of fabric shifting on skin.

Sight is, at first, useless, being restricted only to the inside of his own eyelids. He cracks open an eye, and it’s still pretty uninformative: he’s too close, he can’t focus. After a moment, the blur resolves into an eye, closed, lashes dark against pale, pale skin; the flickering colours of the Ferris wheel lights colour everything in strobes of red, yellow, white. It’s too much information. He closes his eyes again. Kissing is more fun with eyes closed, anyway.

And taste – well, hard to taste much with one’s mouth shut, and once again he’s thinking of his very first kiss. That kiss had actually not been a tremendously pleasant experience: too much agitation, too much pressure, and the girl he’d been kissing had been just as inexperienced as he was. This kiss is better. This is a kiss with someone who clearly knows how to kiss, how to hold back until invited to do more; this is a kiss with someone who is letting Julian lead the way, someone who doesn’t open his mouth until Julian does—

_—ah—_

—and now taste is rather more informative – cotton candy, a hint of beer, and Garak’s tongue (his _tongue!)_ is just the slightest bit cool, just like his lips, and Julian is losing his ability to catalogue, which is always a good sign – _oh,_ and so he leans in, he gives himself to it. Garak’s free arm comes up around him, and his cotton candy hits the floor of the car because there is something much, much better he could do with that hand: he could run it up the back of Garak’s neck into his hair, _oh,_ like _that,_ and he could press him closer, and so he does.

Time passes. He’s busy. The wheel spins, lifting them, carrying them in their own little bubble. The rest of the world drops away, swings back, demands nothing of them, and thank God for that, because everything he has is rather occupied at the moment. Ten percent is shrinking to eight percent, to – _oh!_ – possibly to seven – _mmm_ – oh, perhaps even to five—

 _Ooof—_ Suddenly they’re jolted, jerked backwards, the kiss breaking as the wheel inconsiderately stops, leaving the car hanging in midair and swinging back and forth, back and forth, with the two of them inside looking at each other.

Julian can’t stop smiling. He physically cannot stop smiling. It would hurt to try.

Garak’s smiling, too, but it’s a strange smile, only half-there. He keeps blinking, and he’s staring at Julian, as if trying to see through his skin. It’s flattering but odd, and Julian shifts a bit under his gaze, speaks to break the spell.

“All right, was it?” He tilts his head, and he still can’t stop smiling. His hand still rests at the nape of Garak’s neck, and he feels the tensing and relaxation of the musculature there, the definition of tendons changing as Garak turns his head a little, looks sideways at him, breathes a laugh.

“I... wasn’t certain I would ever be permitted to do that, my dear.” His hand has somehow slipped around Julian’s waist and down to his thigh, just above the knee; it squeezes gently, and _permitted?_ Really, _permitted?_ As if Julian was some kind of off-limits zone? As if Julian had to be danced around, implored to play along – God, it’s ridiculous, it’s—

It’s familiar, is what it is, and it looks a bit different than it did from the other side, and so instead of poking at Garak about his word choices, Julian swallows and smiles and nods, slipping his hand from neck to chin, then down to Garak’s knee. “I’m awfully glad you did.”

 _“You_ are glad...?” Again the half-laugh, half-sigh, just like back at the picnic table; this time, though, Garak leans forward for a moment and drops the lightest kiss on his cheek, barely brushing his skin. It’s almost startling, and it makes him flush, and that’s just stupid. _How can a kiss on the cheek be more intimate than what we just did?_

He finds himself stammering a bit, at a loss for words. Garak almost seems heartened by that, by this silly evidence of Julian being a bit off-balance too, and his smile is less hesitant. He tilts his head, indicating the floor; Julian’s gaze follows the movement, and oh, no, what a mess. His hastily discarded cotton candy has landed, of course, in the worst possible position: cone up, everything else down, and now it’s largely a sticky smear due to the unnoticed assistance of one of his own feet, _oh, yuck!_

His sneaker is disgusting, the sole coated with half-sugar, half-unidentified-bottom-of-Ferris-wheel-car-scum. He has no idea what his face is doing, but whatever it is, it must be remarkable, because Garak outright snickers.

When he turns to look at Garak, the laugh’s been suppressed, but those blue eyes are still chuckling. Garak, laughing at him... it doesn’t bother him, exactly, but— “For God’s sake, can I not be suave for just one moment?” It’s a bit of a plea to the heavens, and he finds it’s actually half-meant.

Garak’s eyes widen at that, and his mouth forms the funniest expression, a sort of little _o_ of denial. “My dear, don’t ever say that. Don’t even think it.”

Julian rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t wish for impossible things, right?”

“Oh, no, that isn’t it. It’s simply that one should never try to improve on perfection...” His hand tightens on Julian’s, and he lifts it, touches it first to his throat, then to his lips, and Julian is left staring as he smiles against Julian’s skin, his eyes closing.

_I don’t— I don’t know what to say—_

It’s too honest – God, it’s absurd that he was ready for a kiss, aching for one, really, but that he’s not even remotely ready for this. There’s no predatory here; no bared teeth, no fierce eyes, just Garak, quiet and open. Too open, too strange, and his mouth stammers into automatic life, “Ha, well, you _are_ the one who said that a taste of me makes everything else bland...”

It sounds stupid, but Garak’s eyes open, meeting his own, and a smile tilts his mouth; he lets their hands drop, and their fingers interlace as he leans in a little bit. “And that was before I’d ever tasted you.”

 _Oh._ Well, perhaps that sounds a bit predatory. “So how do I taste?”

“Hmm.” His tone is thoughtful, considering. “Mostly of cotton candy, I believe. I’m certain I could do a better assessment if given another taste.”

His eyes are bright, and yes, there is definitely a little bit of predatory coming to the surface here. Julian’s fascinated by it, can’t resist playing with it. “Oh, I wouldn’t want you to have to endure more cotton candy. You made your feelings on that issue perfectly clear.”

“I’ll manage. Kiss me again, please.” His voice is calm, his request stated simply, and Julian’s stomach does a bit of a flip at hearing those words from Garak’s mouth.

“Are you sure? You know, you needn’t put yourself through—”

“I _like_ cotton candy, it is _delicious,_ now _kiss me again.”_ Now there’s the funniest little hint of a snarl in his voice as it dips low, and it’s really rather marvellous; it makes Julian grin, makes him want to tease more and more.

“Garak, Garak... I wouldn’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do just for _my_ sake...” He looks away sadly. “No, I simply can’t— _Ummf!”_ As he’s seized by strong hands and tugged forward, his lips pressed against Garak’s; his hands flail in air for a moment, and the car’s rocking, and he’s laughing against Garak’s mouth. It’s a ridiculous kiss, and definitely more than a little predatory on Garak’s end; his lower lip is being softly bitten, and once he gets his giggles under control he does his best to give as good as he gets—

—which is really very good, actually; _oh,_ and time goes all liquid again—

This time the kiss is broken when the car jerks back into motion, the wheel lowering them slowly towards the ground. This time, though, they don’t separate; they stay close, and he can taste Garak on his lips, can taste his breath, can almost feel his eyes on him. He’s flushed and grinning.

“I’m afraid you’ve missed your chance to rock the seat...” Garak’s voice is almost a whisper.

“I’ve been rocking it all along... haven’t you noticed?”

“Oh... is _that_ your secret. I admit, I wondered.”

“Mmm, too bad... thought it’d get more of a reaction out of you than _that.”_

“Perhaps you should try it again. Quickly. Before we reach the ground.”

“You’ve talked me into it. Brace yourself.”

Another kiss, long and sweet.

“I felt it rock that time. My goodness, Julian.”

“Not too amateurish for you?”

“Oh, I’m certain I can refine your technique a little – _oh!”_ As Julian, with a deliberate shove of foot and sway of torso, makes the seat dip them wildly over, and Garak grabs him, laughs out loud.

 _“Excellent,_ Julian, excellent—”

“Not just a pretty face, am I?”

“I had no idea of your hidden talents – do it again!”


	6. Chapter 6

_i don’t wanna go to sleep, i wanna stay up all night, i wanna just screw around_  
 _i don’t wanna think about what’s gonna be after this, i wanna just live right now_

* * *

The raktajino is strong and bitter and has clearly been on the brewer for at least an hour. The addition of far too much cream and sugar hasn’t done much to improve the taste. Doesn’t matter; it’s coffee, and it’s hot in the paper cup, very nearly burning his fingers, and right now it’s just what he wants.

The night is cooler now, and the streetlights shine orange. The city flows around them, not paying much attention to the two people sitting on the curb; it usually doesn’t pay to notice that kind of person, anyway, and so they’re left alone. The bar crowd is just letting out, noisy and boisterous. All the day people have turned into night people, and tonight, with the moon so bright over them, they’re night people too.

It would be a great opportunity for people-watching, to be honest. That’s something fun that both he and Garak enjoy. Right at this particular moment, though, neither one of them has much interest in it.

They’re sitting together on the curb outside the Coffee-Stop, about two blocks away from the midway. Ostensibly, they’re on their way home. Really, they haven’t gotten anywhere near it. It’s better to wander, to walk slowly, to pause often, to make up for lost time. Coffee is just an excuse to stretch things out a bit further, honestly.

He sips his coffee, not looking at it, not looking at anything but Garak looking back at him. Neither one has much to say. That’s all right. They’re doing remarkably well without words at the moment.

He lifts his lips from the cup, leans over, and Garak meets them with his own for a coffee-warmed kiss, Garak’s lips hot against his own. Garak tastes like raktajino, now. He probably does too. That’s fine, it’s all fine...

He rests his forehead against Garak’s, leaving his eyes closed, just enjoying the newness of this. Has he ever been this close to Garak before? The man always seems to walk in his own little bubble; even when they’d held hands, walking together, there’d been a small separation between them. Now, though...

Garak tilts his head back, kisses Julian’s cheek, just on the cheekbone, and Julian smiles at the touch.

“I have to say, I didn’t think you’d be much for PDAs.”

“PDAs?”

“Public demonstrations of—”

“—affection, yes, of course. I’m not, typically.” This absent declaration is rather undercut by the kiss he now drops on Julian’s temple.

“You certainly could have fooled me...” Mmm, that feels nice... lips right there against his skin, and he leans against them just a little. Garak’s lips are very, very soft. It makes him feel as if he ought to go buy some Chapstick or something. _Oh, well, he doesn’t seem to mind..._

Garak makes an amused sound, his voice dipping low; Julian can feel it vibrating in the bones of his face, in his skin. “This is not a typical situation, my dear.” Now Garak leans back, gestures with his coffee, and the sweep of his arm takes in the night, the people, the warmth, the two of them out later than they should be.

“I see.” Julian looks at him, at his lazy smile, at his eyes, heavy-lidded and pleased; there are definite overtones of _happy cat_ , here, and he can’t help but smile at the man. “Should I not get used to this, then?”

“Mmm...” A considering sigh. “Well, perhaps I can put it to you this way: I may not always kiss you quite this often in public.” A tilt of the head, a slow blink. “But if you’ll permit me, my dear, I’ll kiss you very, very often in private…”

 _Oh,_ and happy cat is briefly forgotten because what Garak’s just said is both fascinating and terrifying. Suddenly Julian’s not sure what to do, what to say. Kisses are good, yes, they’ve established that, and it’s really rather amazing how much of that ten percent has been eroded tonight, but – is he allowed to say he’s not quite ready to contemplate more? _Not just yet, not tonight – what do I say, how do I— oh, God, am I really back to square one_ again?

Garak sees the frustration in his face. He must, because that lazy pleasure fades and vanishes, and now here is Garak looking back at him with his usual expression of mild, tolerant amusement. “Don’t worry.”

He blinks, not feeling very good about what Garak’s face just did. “I’m... sorry?”

“Don’t say you’re sorry, and don’t worry. I’m not going to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

It’s weird to hear it said. He feels, obscurely, that he should deny it, should try to smooth things over. “Garak, I— It’s not that I don’t... I mean, I think kissing you may just be my new favourite hobby, but I—”

Garak’s finger touches his lips, stopping his mouth; it’s warm from the heat of his cup. “Someone very clever once told me that he’d never want me to do something I didn’t want to do simply because I felt that I should.”

He breathes out, looking down and away. “Did he...”

“Mmm. Don’t you think that’s worth considering?”

Garak is being very good about this. He should be good about it too. “Well, if it came from someone _very_ clever...” He tries to put a bit of a laugh in his voice.

There’s a moment’s pause; when Garak speaks, his voice is soft. “From one of the people I trust most, in fact.”

He hears the soft tap of a paper cup being set on concrete. His chin is tilted up by a gentle hand, and Garak drops a kiss at the corner of his mouth, and he feels the strangest mix of gratitude and irritation. _How dare he be so understanding and kind about me being ridiculous?_

Oh, well; tonight isn’t for this, tonight isn’t for being introspective and worrying about the future, tonight is for here and now. Garak’s hand is cool against his skin, and he closes his eyes, breathes in: the night tastes of coffee, of car exhaust, of cigarette smoke, of Garak, so close to him, and there’s pleasure in that, and joy, too – worth relishing, worth savouring.

_I’m good at relishing._

Never mind coffee; much better to slide his arms around Garak, to hook his thumbs under the smooth satin of his vest, to press his palms against his back, to tug him close and bring their lips together. It’s a slow kiss, a long kiss, but it builds; never mind where they are, never mind who’s looking, because he needs to do this _right._ He kisses Garak hard, he does his very best; he’s trying to say _thanks,_ trying to say _sorry,_ but also just trying to make him feel good, to make him feel half as appreciated and enjoyed and craved as he makes Julian feel every time they’re together, because this is important and he should know—

For the first time, Garak gasps against his mouth; in his mind, Julian smiles. _Check._

When he lets Garak go, the man looks half-stunned. There’s no tension in him, no tautness, no predator waiting to spring; there’s just someone Julian likes very, very much, who’s been kissed within an inch of his life and who’s blinking in the glow of the streetlights as if he’s just come out of somewhere very dark. God, it’s wonderful, _he’s_ wonderful, and Julian grins at him and pulls him close again, this time just to hug him, to hold him, to have him there within such easy reach, to feel him breathing, to feel him laugh.

“God, I just… this is really something, isn’t it...?”

“I know, my dear, I know...”

He buries his face in Garak’s neck for a brief moment, speaks against his skin.

“Stay up with me. All night. All right?”

Garak turns his head, speaks into his ear, and he hasn’t at all expected that the combination of warm breath and calm voice and soft lips against his earlobe will hit him like a train. _Oh, my God!_

 _Five percent? Four?_ Thank God he’s sitting down—

Not tonight, he can’t think about it tonight, but oh, my God, he’ll have to do some serious thinking soon, and in the meantime he’s completely missed what Garak’s said. “Um... sorry, say that again?”

This time he pulls away a bit, and so Garak’s amused voice doesn’t shake loose quite as many endorphins. “I said, don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

“No. And I wouldn’t care, even if I did. Even if I had class, this is just... Tonight is...” He shakes his head, he can’t quite find the right words, but Garak’s nodding anyway.

“Very well, my dear. I am yours.” Which is lovely, and just what he wants to hear, but… there’s something about the way he says it, something about his eyes...

“Um... you’re mine?”

Clumsily said, clumsily handled, and so of course Garak looks at him with mild irritation. “I am yours _for the night_ , Julian.”

 _Oh, God._ He smiles awkwardly, regretting having said anything at all. “Sorry, Garak.”

“Oh, will you never stop apologizing...” With an exasperated sigh, Garak pulls him close again, runs both hands up into his hair; their faces are centimetres apart, and Garak shakes his head, smiles. “What am I to do with you?”

“Um.” Well, if he’s going to make it easy... “I can think of at least one thing.”

“Really? Do tell.”

 _Mmm..._ Yes, he’s definitely going to have to invest in some Chapstick.

Around them, the night is expanding, its lights shining softly. It’s too dark to see any kind of horizon; in fact, from where they sit, wrapped in each other, it seems very possible that it might have no limits at all.

* * *

_come o-o-on!_  
 _\--ke$ha, "c'mon"_


End file.
